


when i get so low it takes me higher

by harperuth



Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort Of, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of past trauma, minimus continues to frag the armor, this time with bonus rung!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: “I’ll tell you what,” Rung finally said, “Let’s make a deal. I will take a look at my suggestions again, factoring in the considerations of Ultra Magnus’s legacy. And in return, you comm my emergency line when you next feel the need to interface the Magnus armor.”- - -Or, Minimus continues to frag the Magnus armor, but this time it's definitely in the pursuit of therapy. Probably.
Relationships: Minimus Ambus/Rung, Minimus Ambus/Ultra Magnus
Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726693
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	when i get so low it takes me higher

**Author's Note:**

> i've accepted defeat at this point there's like...potentially five more works in this series. i can't believe rung is hot.
> 
> title is from 'too much' by carly rae jepsen, series title is from 'want you in my room' by, again, carly rae jepsen.

Minimus was willing to admit that it was becoming something of a...habit.

He hesitated over the word ‘problem.’ Mechs who were a _problem_ did not make it far in life. Mechs who had _problems_ swept them under processing patches and carried on with their functioning.

“Do I strike you as a problem solver?” Rung’s soft voice was threaded with amusement. Minimus leveled an even stare at him. Rung smiled, “What is this new habit of yours?”

Minimus didn’t want to share. He felt uncomfortably aware of how _real_ that made it. He shifted his optics to a spot on the wall that bore a dent from...well, from any number of things. 

The end of the previous cycle had found _him_ , no armor, irreducible, once again...engaging the Magnus armor. Had it not been for the flash of fear upon realizing he’d been bearing his valve down against the tip of a spike he had no hope of taking that tumbled all his interfacing protocols offline, he might have truly harmed himself.

Once was an isolated incident. He had no desire to make it a pattern.

He delivered the recollection to the dent in the wall.

Rung hummed once he’d finished, “You realize that part way through you stopped calling it ‘the armor’ and simply referred to it as ‘Magnus’?”

Minimus felt his plating flare and slick back down, “I’m working on...separating.”

Rung frowned, a small, ridiculous gesture. He thumbed at the datapad he was holding, “I suppose I didn’t consider that there is a part of you that has its own mythos and sense of life that is already deeply separate from you. I apologize for that.”

Minimus shuttered his optics, “I—”

No more sounds were forthcoming. Rung watched him for a long klik, before shifting his gaze back to his datapad for just as long. Minimus closed his mouth.

“I’ll tell you what,” Rung finally said, “Let’s make a deal. I will take a look at my suggestions again, factoring in the considerations of Ultra Magnus’s legacy.”

He stopped and Minimus struggled to understand what was going on. Mechs who told him what to do didn’t _apologize_...they just tweaked his coding to fix the _problem_ and moved on. Rung met his optics, “And in return, you comm my emergency line when you next feel the need to interface the Magnus armor.”

“I’m not an emergency,” Minimus bit out before shutting his vocalizer down. He’d...not meant to say that.

“Standard procedure,” Rung smiled a little crookedly at him, perhaps knowing how soothing the words were to Minimus, “For mechs who admit danger to their health and safety.”

In any case, Minimus didn’t touch the armor, beyond wearing it, for a bit.

The fear that lanced through his spark was still close enough that he had no desire. He passed the idling behemoth every night during his pre-recharge maintenance, and simply stopped and stared. It was perhaps a deca-cycle before that changed.

It had been a...difficult cycle.

He felt _small_ , voices whirling through his processor. Not small, he considered, performing routine checks to his reflexive materials, _unwanted_.

He flinched back against the thought string.

He offlined his optics and completed his checks. He didn’t online his optics until he felt the knees of the Magnus armor brushing his abdominal plating. The armor loomed. It seemed like that was all it was capable of doing.

Minimus had already connected to the armor before the memory of Rung’s request stopped him. He vented, realizing that his fans were already on and his interface protocols primed. Hm.

He sent the command to the Magnus armor to pressurize its spike.

He sent a ping to Rung’s comm line.

“Minimus,” Rung connected a moment later, “Are you alright?”

“I—” Minimus cycled his intake. His panel snapped back, “I forgot.”

“Minimus,” Rung’s voice snapped against his comm, “ _Are you alright?_ ”

“I don’t think I can stop,” Minimus felt a small thrill at being uncooperative, “But I forgot to comm you.”

“Are you wearing any armor?” Rung’s voice was hard-edged.

“Yes,” Minimus offered. 

“Okay,” Rung exvented, “Can you please tell me where you are right now?”

“I’m—” Minimus flexed his digits, “I’m in its lap. The Magnus armor. And...hardlined in.”

“Will you unplug please?” Rung asked.

“Can’t,” Minimus whined, “Want—”

“What do you want?” Rung’s voice gentled. Minimus chewed on his lip plate.

“Just...want,” Minimus’s processor shuddered at the imprecise nature of his response, but he felt hazy. He didn't want to think. He wanted to get fragged. He wanted to be wanted. He couldn’t say that out loud.

 _You don’t deserve to feel wanted_ , his processor whispered. Minimus flinched forward and brushed Magnus’s spike. He must have made a noise.

“Minimus,” Rung said slowly, “Can you describe what you’re doing.”

Minimus shifted, tilting his hips further forward into Magnus’s spike, “Press-Pressing against its spike.”

“What part of you is pressing against its spike?” Rung asked, perfectly clinical. Minimus whined.

“My array,” He moved in a slow rhythm, letting the charge build slowly, “On the underside of its spike. It’s got— It’s a big spike.”

“I don’t care about the armor’s spike,” Rung said, like it was nothing to even think that, “Where are your servos?”

“I—” Minimus struggled to understand, interfacing protocols running up against paradoxes spinning from old patches running up against that voice whispering, _Ridiculous servos, when have you been able to hold on to anything you wanted?_ “I don’t—”

“What’s wrong?” Rung’s voice gentled. Minimus shook his helm.

“My servos are,” He took a nanoklik to locate them, “On Magnus’s chestplate.”

“Thank you, Minimus,” Rung rushed out, and Minimus felt a twinge of...something, shudder through his system, “What part of you is pressing against the spike?”

“My array,” Minimus answered again, as new processor trees sprouted and tried to facilitate Rung’s requests. This wasn’t— This hadn’t been about _him_. It was about...about…

Hm.

“Is your spike out?” Rung asked and— Minimus paused in his movements, trying to chase that stray thought.

“No?” He hadn’t meant to frame it as a question. He felt unsettled, drawn back into his own frame, using too much processor power than he should have been, “I don’t like to use them.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” Rung assured and that hitch in his words was gone. Minimus wanted it back.

“I don’t—” He considered how to word it. It was hard to explain without the visual, “My frame, my irreducible frame, doesn’t have a spike like that. It’s disconcerting to use one on my bigger frames.”

“I—” Rung choked, and Minimus grinned, “Thank you for, um, sharing.”

“I have a spike,” Minimus assured, still grinning, and the expression felt stretched and alien on his face, “I like it.”

“That’s good,” Rung said, so close to being back to even.

“Can I—?” Minimus frowned, unsure why he’d felt the need to ask.

“Can you what?” Rung prompted. Minimus chewed on his lip plate.

“I’m going to ride the armor,” Minimus said, purposely leaving off the inflective, shifting his knees better under him to lift high enough.

“Minimus,” Rung’s voice was sharp. Minimus stopped, “I need you to feel your valve. Tell me if you have enough lubrication to do this.”

“But—” Minimus stopped. It wasn’t supposed to feel good at first. _The armor is far more important than you, your comfort_. It was part of it.

“I’m sorry Minimus,” Rung said, “But that isn’t negotiable at the moment.”

Minimus dropped his helm on the armor’s chest, cancelling out the whirlwind of processor trees that spawned when he dropped his servo to his own array. His digits scraped past his first ring of calipers. A small sound escaped him.

“It’s—” Minimus frowned, “I don’t want to.”

“What don’t you want to do?” Rung asked.

“I don’t want to get myself lubricated enough,” Minimus felt his vents speed up, “It’s not supposed to— I’m not supposed to—”

“According to who?” Rung’s voice had gentled again, that hitch missing. Minimus wanted it back.

“I don’t know,” His interface protocols were starting to overwhelm him, accustomed as they’d become to the over and done with nature of his interface with the armor. He did know.

“Alright,” Rung said, “Can you rub your node for me? Just that Minimus.”

“I guess,” Minimus withdrew his digits from his valve and swiped them over his node. He exvented shakily, “Feels weird.”

“Thank you for doing this,” Rung said and Minimus gasped as his valve clenched against nothing, charge shooting up his spinal strut, “Are you alright?”

Minimus dug his denta into a small ridge in the armor before him, muffling his, “I’m good.”

“Tell me what your digits are doing on your node,” Rung’s voice hitched again. Minimus moaned.

“Touching—” Minimus released his denta from the armor with a gasp, “Rubbing back and forth.”

“Very good,” Rung said, and Minimus’s programming cascaded with pleasure responses, “Can you touch your valve again?”

Minimus’s digits slid over slippery mesh, “I’m lubricated. It’s— Oh.”

“Minimus?” Rung asked.

“I, um,” He vented carefully, pulling back from the blade’s edge he’d been precariously balanced on, “Feel very good.”

“Do you want to take the armor’s spike?” Rung asked and oh, _that_ was a new tone of voice. Minimus let it wash over him, “Or would you like to overload like this?”

“Like this?” Minimus asked. He wanted...clarification.

“With your digits,” Rung said, and his vents had _absolutely_ hitched. Minimus’s valve clenched.

“Spike,” He decided, “But…”

“What is it?” Rung’s words were _staticked_ , and Minimus’s valve clenched again.

Oh.

“I want you to keep talking to me while I do,” Minimus said. He suddenly felt more sure-footed than he had during any of his previous encounters with the armor. He...he wanted to feel wanted.

He was going to get that.

“I’ve got my knees under me,” He said, not waiting on Rung, “I’ve got the spike against my valve.”

Minimus lined the spike up and let himself push down on it slowly. He gasped, “Oh.”

“Minimus?” Rung asked, static lacing his voice. Minimus smiled.

“Hm?” He pushed down again, stretching another ring of calipers.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Rung ordered. Minimus shuddered.

“The spike is in my valve,” Minimus said, sliding down, “It’s— Oh, it’s big.”

“I don’t care about the spike,” Rung _snapped_ , then audibly cycled his intake, “I’m sorry I— How does your valve feel?”

“It’s so good,” Minimus hummed, “Stretched.”

“Minimus,” Rung gasped. Minimus sat himself fully on the armor’s spike, interface protocols screaming after spending so much time online and being pinged continually with no overload. The nodes in his array were live wires and the massive charge the Magnus armor dumped was threatening to overwhelm him.

“Rung,” Minimus whined, “Is this charging you up?”

“Primus,” Rung said, and Minimus could hear his vents and fans working hard over the comm link; imagined he could hear Rung’s plating reshuffling. 

“Please,” Minimus wasn’t sure what he was asking for. He’d never felt this charged up before. He circled his hips and moaned.

“Yes,” Rung finally said, quietly.

Minimus’s circuits lit with charge, overload crashing over his frame and blanking his processor. He knew in a detached way that he was making a ridiculous amount of noise, but he hadn’t felt an overload like that in centuries. Lazy crackles of charge continued to spark through his frame as he wound down.

He depressurized the armor’s spike with a wince, not bothering to move beyond that.

“Rung,” He tried to say, but his vocalizer took a long few nanokliks to relocate its processes, “Rung.”

“Yes?” Rung still sounded strung tight. Minimus wondered if he was touching his array, but the idle thought string had nothing to grasp, his interface protocols entirely knocked offline.

“Should come watch,” Minimus sighed, “Next time.”

Rung made a strangled noise and the comm link disconnected.

That was alright.

Minimus would get up and clean himself.

In a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> for clarification, minimus has a t-dick in his irreducible form, bc we've been talking about varied arrays and specifically robots with t-dick on the nsfw twitter @robopunkcfb. it's good and you should accept them into your heart.
> 
> all other robot queries can be directed to @floralpunkcfb on twitter


End file.
